Stupid Is

“I’m going to play a tennis match tonight”

“Are you nuts?”

I thought about being coy with my response to the question, but, well, she has a point. There was no use denying what has long been obvious.


Simple and sweet.

Not quite two weeks ago, I turned my ankle while riding my mountain bike. It was an injury that would have been avoided if I chose to listen to common sense, taken the minute or two to put on my bike shoes rather than venture out wearing only flip flops. My bike has clipless pedals, require shoes with reinforced stiff soles and metal cleats that clip into the pedals. The pedals are small. I was in a hurry, late for the race I had volunteered to help marshall, so I wanted to get right to my post. It didn’t matter that my post was deep in the woods, at the back end of the race course, and I would have to ride the rough, sometimes steep narrow dirt trails to get there. When the race was over, I would have to help remove the taped barriers that marked the course route.

The race was a timed race, with participants released into the course every 5 minutes. It was my job to report when a rider passed my check point, provide encouragement to each rider as they negotiated the steep route sections up to my station, then pedaled down a severe drop around the back, back up, then over a straight down drop that comes back over a table top jump. People come up to my post to watch and cheer, ringing cowbells and blowing horns. Riders are usually fatigued when they reach that point in the race, the tough climbs taking their toll on the legs, and there can be some real drama to witness, the struggle to get over the steep rooty section a challenge. Only three riders made it up and over the roots without stopping to walk or run their bike up the rest of the climb. Last year, I brought my trumpet with me, blew taps if someone didn’t make it to the top. That got a bad reaction from a man who lived close by, a veteran who said that taps brought back bad memories.

When the race was finished, I climbed back on my bike and started the task of taking down the tape barriers. I had to negotiate the trails carefully, not just because I was wearing flips, but also because the trails were damp from a light rain that had fallen the night before.

That dampness was my downfall. Each time I stopped to take down some barrier tape, the bottom of my flip flops got wet. With wet pedals and ‘shoes’, I zipped down the side of a berm, then back up the other side. When I came over the top of the opposite berm, my right foot slipped sideways off of the pedal, turning my ankle in the process. Oops. I didn’t think much of it. There wasn’t much pain. However, later on, I noticed a bit of pain on the outside of my foot while I was walking. The foot swelled a little bit, but I figured the swelling would be gone in a day or two, and I would be back to normal. Monday, it was tender. While walking across the parking lot at work, there was a loud popping sound from my foot, with a sharp pain.

Crap. It really hurt. I knew I was hurt. Oh no…it’s the beginning of the spring/summer. Biking plans are ramping up, the outdoor tennis season is starting.

Did I mention how much of a doof I am? I can’t rest an injury. I tried staying off of the foot as much as possible, but I didn’t ice it lest my wife think I was too injured to bike or play tennis. Last weekend, a week after the initial injury, I spent the day walking with her at a spring garden festival, visited garage sales with her that morning (rode my bike in, yes, flip flops). We got home, cooked burgers on the grill and played bags… and I turned the ankle again. This time it swelled up like a stuffed sausage. Lisa insisted I visit an urgent care the next day to make sure it wasn’t more than a sprain. Since then, I have soaked it every evening in a hot epsom salt bath, followed by ice. The swelling is gone. It feels relatively good.

So, when Norm, my doubles tennis partner, asked me this morning if I wanted to play our scheduled match this evening, I said yes.

Thus, the ‘Are you nuts?’.

I didn’t play. She was right in more ways than one. She also reminded me that in a few weeks we will be in Turkey, a trip that will involve a lot of walking and hiking. Screwing the foot/ankle up again will probably mean it will take longer to recover.

It’s nice to have a voice of reason to counter my lack of common sense……

Waiting for the transition

Here in Chicagoland, we’re in that season where spring, summer and winter are in a clash. Winter refuses to give in, many years we get snow showers into May, like we did yesterday. A few weeks ago was a blessed gift of temperatures in the seventies, sunny days with barely any wind. All the trees started to bud, spring flowers poked through to greet the sun, landscapers mowed for the first time this year. I rode singletrack trails Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Wednesday, Thursday that week. Everyone seemed to, the trailhead parking lots packed. I brought my mountain bike to work that Wednesday, rode the Palos trails on the way home, something I like to do now and then as a change of pace — and even though I thoroughly enjoyed the ride, I loathed the crowds. I parked in the back end of the parking lot, couldn’t get out when I tried to leave. It was a madhouse!

I am dreaming of the flowers I am going to plant in a few weeks. Last year, I had 30 pots out on and around our patio. I am trying to think of different ways to plant, will probably put more perennials in (although that’s Lisa’s thing), am thinking about building a large planter box. Flowers became a refuge for me five years ago, when I moved out on my own, and the balcony of my condo was filled with containers of flowers, including rail planters. Now I live on the first floor, face north with lots of shade, so plants don’t do as well. Lisa has a nice collection of plants, however, and our patio area was beautiful last year.

This year is bringing a new activity to my life — competitive tennis. My friend and neighbor, Norm, played as my doubles partner in an indoor league the past few months. We had fun, so much so that we are teaming up to play a Gladiator’s outdoor league this Spring and Summer. Our results for the indoor league were not great — we lost all five of our matches. However, we played well. Our last match was against the guys who won the indoor season, and we nearly beat them. They commented that we play very well for our first time in the league, said they thought we will be very competitive if we keep playing. Our match against them was so good that they have asked us to play again. Every team we played against commented on our serves. Norm and I are both power players, so much so that opponents set up a few feet past the baseline when we serve. I was happy with the consistency of my serve, going without a double fault three matches in a row.

And, yes, the knee is OK for tennis. I was pleasantly surprised that it didn’t bark too much at me during the indoor season. Last year, I was hurting for days after a match.

We are going to have a busy summer. Next month, we have a weekend family retreat at Lake Geneva with our church, followed by two weeks in Turkey with my daughter and her husband (Ankara, Cappadocia, Ephesus, and a few other places). Lisa is going to Disney in July, with her son and granddaughter. I am going to the Bentonville, Arkansas area to ride the mountain bike trails there while Lisa is in Florida. My daughter and her husband are going to Arkansas for the summer, after Lisa and I visit them in Turkey. There are several concerts planned, and I think we will get a few more trips in before it gets cold again.

Bring on the warm weather. I kind of like this transition time. So much to look forward to!

I’m Bad A@@

What? Two days in a row after pretty much disappearing for a while? Yes. And the theme continues from last night’s topic — doctor type of stuff. Thanks for the well wishes about the knee replacement. Many people say it, mainly because it’s true. It sucks getting old. I am venturing into the oldness territory. What goes with the territory is talking about various procedures and ailments.

I have good health insurance now, a HSA as well, and a wife who works for a hospital. What that means is that I can no longer be the typical irresponsible male who puts off going to the doctor. Before I married Lisa, I didn’t have a general practitioner. I hadn’t gone for a physical for so long, my original doctor had moved on and I couldn’t get in to see his replacement. Lisa changed that, found a doctor for me out of the network of doctors that she manages. She kicked my stubborn butt into action. I’m moving slowly on things, but I am making progress.

I finally succumbed to the procedure I dreaded the most, the exam that everyone approaching their fifties laments. I’m talking about the invasion of the butt snatchers, the horrid colonoscopy. Before anyone who knows how old I am says it, YES I AM A WIMP WHO PUTS OFF STUFF. For those who don’t know, I am 61. Colonoscopies are supposed to happen somewhere around the 50 year mark. So sue me. My excuse is halfway legit. Up to this point in time, I couldn’t bring myself to pay doctor and hospital bills, especially when I was forced to get insurance through the federal Healthcare Marketplace. That insurance was dreadful.

Lisa went first, pretty much making it so I couldn’t get out of it. I enjoyed ridiculing her during the bowel cleanse, passing by the bathroom while making loud raspberries (phhhhhblllllllttttttttt) and laughing at her while she waited outside of the bathroom adjoining our bedroom, wrapped in a towel while laying on our bed and waiting for the next wave to arrive. When my time came around, she was practically drooling in the anticipation of sweet poo revenge. Much to her chagrin, the bowel prep didn’t hit me as violently as it had hit her. I guess I am not as full of s*&t as she thought I was. I downed the entire jug, half in the period of an hour, half four hours prior to the impending probe. The anal side of me (pun intended) was pleased that I had achieved the intended result of the cleanse. Everything came out clear in (and out of) the end.

The cleanse was the worst part of the whole deal. Lisa drove me to the clinic for the 10 AM appointment. They whisked me in, tossed the air conditioned gown at me, gave me the speech about what was to happen. They wheeled me to the exam room, hit me with the anesthesia. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in the room I had started in. The nurse was waiting for me, told me I could get dressed, which I did surprisingly easily. I walked out under my own power to Lisa waiting in the lobby. By 11 AM, I was having coffee and breakfast, a light breakfast due to Lisa’s advice. The anesthesiologist had said I would want to take a nice nap that afternoon, which I did. It was one of the best naps I’ve ever had. That’s another one of the joys of getting older — a good nap is one of the best experiences ever, good enough to talk about with friends.

There were several benefits to having a colonoscopy. One, I felt about ten pounds lighter and infinitely better than I have felt for a while. It’s not that I feel sick, it’s just that the empty gut was a good feeling. The procedure also pumps a lot of air into the person receiving the exam. I have to say that I let loose some of the best, worry free farts I have had for as long as I can remember. They were literally a blast, with no risk of shart.

Thankfully, I don’t have to be invaded for a few more years. I was clean as a whistle.

And there you have it until next time and the next procedure or ailment.

Knee challenge

My competitive nature has always been both a blessing and a curse. Know what I mean? There always has been a competitive fire in me, a motivator that pushes me to strive for my best performance, whether it be on a bicycle, on the court or diamond, or in the office. My body or mind isn’t always ready for that push, thus the curse. It makes me do or say things that I know are a risk, probably not best for me, and potentially harmful for me.

Take my right knee, for instance. Reverse the clock to when I was 25, strapping and strong, and competing in a B level racquesball league. I was playing a match against a guy who I felt should never have been on the court with me, yet he was beating me. The match wore on, and I was pounding the ball fiercely, not the best strategy no matter who the opponent, as racquetball is a game that requires both power and finesse. I was getting frustrated because he was dropping soft shots in that seemed lucky as snot, but they were working. He dropped a lob into the back corner and I attacked it, taking the ball off the back wall, but with my right leg behind me. While I executed a hard backhand kill shot, I heard a loud pop as my right knee hyperextended behind me. I fell to the ground, writhing in pain, my knee in agony. Not to be undone, I dragged myself up, supported myself on my left leg, attempted to finish the match. I couldn’t finish, but I played five more points. The pain was too great, my right leg too unstable to keep going.

Three weeks later, I was on the operating table. The cartilage in my right knee had what the ortho described as a ‘bucket handle’ tear, with the medial collateral ligament torn. Before going under anesthesia, the surgeon told me that I had two options — repair the cartilage tear with arthroscopic surgery or have the cartilage tear remedied with additional open knee surgery to repair the torn ligament. I opted for the arthroscopic surgery, the recovery the least of the two options, hoping I would be ready to play the last half of the basketball season. Open knee surgery would be six months of recovery and therapy. I didn’t want that.

Looking back, I wish I had opted for the complete fix. It may not matter that much now, but it would have been better for me, would likely have meant reinjuring the knee far less. Two months out of surgery, as soon as I was released, I played in my first recreational league basketball game, was having the game of my life. The doc had advised me to play five minutes or less at a time, but I was hot. I drove the baseline for a lay up, only to have someone move underneath me, the knee once again collapsed under me. With total wimpish anguish, I screamed and cried for a full five minutes. The knee recovered without surgery, but it was never the same again, and I blew it out countless times in the years that followed. Five years later, the knee was operated on again, with more cartilage removed.

That was over 30 years ago. Cycling became my primary form of exercise, although I continued to play basketball and softball until a few years ago. I needed to fuel that competitive urge. But cycling extended my ability to use the knee, strengthened the muscles that support the knee and keep it stable. After decades of using a fitted knee brace, I no longer need the brace to play non contact sports such as tennis. However, extended exercise taxed the knee, causing pain and stiffness, especially after a long tennis match or extended bicycle ride. I could tell the damage was taking its toll.

I have been playing a lot of tennis lately. Tennis was my exercise of choice for the winter months this past winter. I enjoy playing, my competitive juices flowing, especially when I serve. It’s a power serve, with lots of top and side spin, and it’s fun to watch the fear in my opponent. I went as far as to enlist the services of my friend Norm as a doubles tennis partner. We just finished our indoor competitive season in a regional league. We’re good partners, and we’re going to do well in the leagues if we keep playing. Another ailment reared it’s ugly head during the winter season — tennis elbow. The injury prompted me to make a visit to the orthopaedic doctor. After all, I could kill two birds with one stone — the knee and the elbow. My knee started bothering me last summer during mountain bike rides, so uncomfortable when at rest that I had to put my weight on my left (healthy) knee. I didn’t kow exactly what was wrong, but I suspected it was what I had warned about years ago — my cartilage was gone.

Last week was my visit to the ortho. Xrays confirmed that the outer portion of my right knee has no cartilage. The doc advised that the joints are encroaching on each other. In other words, the knee is bone on bone. He said that under normal circumstances, he would want to do knee replacement right away. But I am not experiencing pain, only discomfort, and the knee is stable due to the muscles supporting it. Cycling has been its saviour.

I have a decision to make. I really don’t like the idea of having the knee replaced, but it’s inevitable. I can constantly feel bone on bone. My hope is that the knee will last the summer. Come November, it will be replaced.

Here’s hoping I can still compete…..


I have a case of tennis elbow right now. It hasn’t kept me from playing — last week I played three times. When I am not playing, the elbow is difficult to straighten, and the pain is constant by the third set of a match when I do play. Oddly enough, the third set is when I have been playing my best tennis. The last match I played, a doubles match, our opponents joked that maybe I should start warming up an hour before each match.

I joined an indoor doubles tennis league this past January, coaxing a neighbor of mine into being my partner. It was the first foray for each of us into the world of competitive tennis. We are learning the nuances, yet to win a match, but playing very well. There are three matches left to play, our skills getting better each match, so we hope to win at least one of those matches. If we don’t, it’s really not going to be a disappointment to us. We are having a bunch of fun. I am getting some respect from the people we play, as I have been 20-30 years older than everyone we have played. My partner is 20 years younger! I am 61 years young, in case that was a question.

Age might have something to do with the tennis elbow, although it’s a common ailment for most tennis players at some time or another. I am learning to stretch out the forearm muscles and that has helped. Also, I tried using a Tens unit last night to work the muscles. That was a strange experience because the Tens stimulates the muscles, so the bicep and forearm muscles contract visibly. I had to adjust the strength, the intensity of the treiatment at first causing my fingers to clench into a fist. This evening, I realized that the pain had almost completely subsided, my arm straight with little to no resistance or pain. I am sure that staying active and competing at my age will mean that I must learn how to treat my body better. I also have come to expect some aches and pains!

Lisa is smart. She knows that it’s important for me to stay active, and she isn’t trying to talk me out of doing any activities that I enjoy, whether it be tennis or riding my mountain bike. I am blessed to have her, a wife who encourages me, and is happy when I am happy. She is active, as well, one of the things that makes us so compatible. We don’t let the moss grow!

I’ll never be a top level tennis player. I don’t care. It’s fun, especially the more I play. Here’s hoping that I will be able to continue into my golden years. That’s a topic for another blog, I suppose.

My Father is Yacky

Thought I would get a few words down right now, before I call my dad. Dad has always been a talker, even before he retired, but since mom died it’s hard to get a word in edge wise plus it’s always a long call. Lisa gets a kick out of it, especially when he says “I suppose I should let you go” and then proceeds to launch into a conversation about his next newest project. 30 minutes later, he’s still talking. I’m glad he’s still around to talk with, however, and the guy is as healthy as anyone. He turns 83 next month, but he has the energy and clear mind of someone much, much younger.

I do like how he gets excited about things. Usually it’s his newest purchase, or his newest expected purchase, I should say. When he bought his e-bike last year, he researched for weeks before finally deciding on a HeyBike. This was after purchasing a used e-bike online that proved to be a bit too heavy for his liking, and it fell on him while he was installing a kickstand on it. That mishap resulted in a broken wrist (the guy removed the cast himself after about three weeks). Our phone calls last year consisted of reports on his rides and upgrades he was considering for the HeyBike. At one point, I had to talk him out of buying a trailer attachment, so he could take his dog along on rides. I am happy with the mileage he logged this past Fall — over 500 miles.

Before the bike, it was a sudden itch to try out motorcycles, which did not turn out well. He signed up for a riding skills course, one where the motorcycle is provided. The instructor eventually told him that maybe it was best dad learn to ride at home. I am glad for that. As the only son of his three sons that had owned a motorcycle, not only did dad consult me about every idea, but I know enough about riding to be genuinely scared for my father. I was glad when he gave up the idea.

Recently dad decided to have all the floors in his house replaced with vinyl. He really liked the floor Lisa and I had put in, so after a few months of consternation and consulting with us, he had the floors replaced. Dad is a bit cheap, so price became a factor. That meant he decided to leave the original cherry baseboards and trim. When the floors were finished, Dad’s new project became making his own baseboard and shoe (he has his own wood shop). I’m pretty sure my aunt and his lady friend (he won’t call her his girlfriend — no one will ever live up to the standard my mom set, a very high bar to reach) convinced him to replace the trim. To his credit, he finished the whole baseboard and trim project in a few days. It looks very nice.

When Dad last visited, he was impressed with the large flat screen TV set up we have in our condo. He had never considered a smart TV set up, liked the wireless mesh network I have, especially when he saw that it made it possible to watch TV out in the garage. There were all sorts of questions about the different streaming subscriptions we use. This project only took a few weeks, however, and now he has a very nice TV. It’s funny how he cut his entertainment center in half, so the larger TV would fit. Soon, he will probably mount the TV he bought on the wall. I will make the trip down to visit him that weekend, help him with the wall mount.

Watching my dad makes me wonder what it’s going to be like for me in a few years. I am not too far away from retirement, just a few short years away, and I find myself resembling my father more than I care to admit. Also, like him, I have a wife who keeps me busy, who is always planning our next project or adventure. Our condo has transformed in the last year since we married and I moved in. We bought paint and supplies to paint our kitchen this weekend, so that’s going to be my project for the next few days. We also are looking at tubs or shower units, vanities, sinks and vanity tops for the main bathroom. That will likely be done in the next few months. On top of that, we go to Disney next month, are planning a trip to Turkey in June, and a trip to Arkansas in July. Lisa is going to Colorado in April for work, is taking our granddaughter to Disney in July.

I also am going to be playing tennis competitively for the first time ever. My friend, Norm, and I signed up as doubles partners for the indoor/outdoor season in a regional tennis league. Games start in two weeks, with the indoor season going until May, followed by the outdoor season that goes until the end of August. Couple that with mountain biking and I am either going to be very tired, or in the best physical shape of my semi senior life. I turn 62 this year. While I am an active 60+, I am not going to say 60 is the new 40.

Looking at my dad, though, I would say 80 is the new 60.

Image Bearer

What is the challenge of being a newlywed, a 61 year old newlywed, a 61 year old newlywed 5 years after divorce and 25 years of marriage?

To be real honest, the biggest challenge for me is to live up to the image she has of me. My wife is grateful to have a man who loves God, who encourages her in her faith, and she shows me that by being happy with the simple faith I have. Before each meal we eat together, she takes my hand and listens to me give thanks to God, often squeezing my hand as I pray for us as a way to show her appreciation. When we painted and remodeled our condo this past summer, it was something we did together, and she acknowledged even my smallest contributions. I hear how she builds me up in conversation with her family and friends. She wants me to be my own man, admires that, encourages it. We worship together, truly together, next to each other, and I feel her admiration as she holds me hand during church services. She makes me feel like I am a man to be admired, because she truly feels that way about me. Living up to the image my wife has of me is really pretty simple to do, and I know that even when I stumble (and I have a little) she will forgive me, will continue to build me up.

In comparison, I spent 25 years wondering why I didn’t live up to the expectations my first wife had of me. I could never live up to those expectations, an almost mythical man she and her sisters had created from what she thought of her father, a spiritual giant who was obsessed with being just that. My ex expected me to be someone I could never be, and she punished me for it. When I didn’t live up to those expectations, when I stumbled, her opinion disappeared into the abyss of disrespect. She withdrew herself from me, never worshipped with me, and I eventually gave up trying to figure out what I could do to gain her respect. The last few years of our marriage, I was emotionally starved. After we separated, I hungered for attention, didn’t realize how emotionally malnourished I had become.

So how do I live up to the image my wife has of me? A lot of it has to do with being aware of what she needs from me. I don’t have to be a spiritual giant. I just need to be a man who loves Jesus.. and I do. There is no pressure to be anything I am not. The result is that I am growing in my walk with God, enjoying what I am learning, happy that she is watching me and satisfied with my desire to know God. She told me one day how happy it made her to hear me singing along to a worship song as I worked one morning, hugged me with tears in her eyes as she told me that (I think she likes my singing voice, too). The reality of it all is that there really isn’t an image I have to live up to. I just need to be myself with her, continue to be the man she fell in love with.

My mother was that way with my father until the day that she died. No wonder he misses her so much.

Evening Ramble

This is going to be one of those evening blogs where I sit down to write with no real purpose in mind. I have the time tonight, really just want to see my mind in front of me. Had I not made a Costco run, I might have started earlier without the fog of near beditme in my head. The Costco run was necessary, though, a voyage of importance — my favorite dark roast coffee pods ran out this past week. I have been forced to drink the overly strawberry-ish chocolate coffee I bought at Menards (on one of my rebellious visits without my wife). It’s not that the coffee is bad. As a matter of fact, it’s pretty good, but that coffee is not an every day coffee. The bold dark roast I normally drink is a comfort each morning, especially on those mornings that I work from home and get to take extra time blending into the day. I like it overly sweet, with four packets of Splenda, drink it slowly at first, the warmth of the large ceramic mug in my hand enhancing the mellow that so often characterizes my morning. Our condo faces northeast, and I like the view of the sunrise through the large sliding glass doors in our living room.

Funny as it may seem, I am already looking forward to the morning. Oh wait, my revelry will have to wait until Thursday, as tomorrow is one of my commute to work days. My office is nearly 40 miles away, in the far south Chicago suburb of Tinley Park. I pop out of bed (contrary to what Lisa says — she says I shuffle in the morning) promptly at 5:30 AM or earlier if I decide to get up earlier, am out the door before 6. The first part of my commute is on I-88 east to 355 south, a bit hairy until my little Subaru crosses over I-55, the traffic less dense until I get to I-80. Even with the traffic, the Subie rarely drops below 80 mph, and the commute is an easy 35-40 minutes. One of the treats this time of year is watching the sun begin to creep up. When I back into my spot at the office, the morning is fresh, with dawn’s light in its glory as I trudge from my car to the five story building I work in.

My perspective on work is beginning to change. Retirement is no longer just a thought, it’s a reality that I realize will be here before I know it. Lisa wants me to retire at 65. She is two years older than I am, so it makes sense to retire together. I really like that idea. With retirement in mind, my approach to my job is different. There is no real reason for me to want to do another job, to push for a promotion or more money. I am good at my job, take satisfaction in that, am getting the recognition and respect that comes to someone my age, my experience something that is appreciated. In some respects, I have to say it was a long time coming, but maybe that respect is something I had to earn over the years. Today, I interviewed one of the prospects intended to round out the five person team I work with. My boss has had me doing that, wants me to give the potential employees a chance to speak with someone who is doing the job they may be doing. It’s fun for me. The first interview I did was a phone interview, at my desk with my boss listening over my shoulder, and he got a huge chuckle when I told the person I was interviewing that they would get along in the company just fine as long as they weren’t a deadbeat. I am required to use that line with every person I interview now.

Tomorrow also is the start of a two day onboarding class. It’s intended to be a refresher for me. Also, it’s an opportunity to meet some of the people I never see but support on a day to day basis. I like that in a bit of a selfish way. Those people usually express their appreciation, make me feel like I am a big deal. That’s not a bad thing, I guess, and I think my boss has me attend the classes more for the opportunity to further the relationships with our sales people. I take advantage of that opportunity, as once people meet me face to face, it makes it even easier to deal with them afterwards. The extrovert in me also gets a lot of energy from the interaction.

Time to stop my writing for the evening. It almost felt like little walk around the block as I wrote. Lisa is getting ready for bed right now, showering and getting into her pajamas. While I wash my face, brush my teeth and shave, she settles in under the covers and waits for me with the covers pulled up to her nose. I get in bed, give her the nightly back rub while we watch a little bit of Home Town (we love the Napiers) or Fixer Upper (Chip and Joanna are fun to watch). I usually fall asleep rubbing her back, am shaken back awake by Lisa telling me it’s time to put my CPAP mask on.

Good night…….

Exposure of the Indecent Kind

Over the years, bicycling has exposed me to many things, most very good, some out of place. As I was out for a leisurely pedal through the forest preserve close to my home this past Sunday, I came upon something that made me pause in a ‘surely that is not what I think I see’ way. Of course, I had to grab my cell phone out of the handy portable phone pocket in my vest. It wasn’t warm, wasn’t cold. The vest was zipped up, however. From what I could see, not all humans were as concerned about the cool autumn weather.

As I got closer, THONG, it hit me. I told myself to pedal faster, after snapping another quick picture. The moon came out early this past Sunday. It was the beginning of daylight savings time, I suppose, and the light of day was beginning to wane.

He was friendly, said hello as a whizzed past. The forest preserve path takes a jaunt around a large marsh just past the point of exposure. I took my time riding the path around the marsh. That path goes around the marsh, then takes me back the way I came on the way home. Hopefully, moon man would be long gone. Just when I thought the coast was clear, the moon appeared ahead of me again. I caught a glimpse of the guy’s face as I passed — and the guy must have been in his late sixties! The guy was also very tall. He looked a bit perturbed as I passed this time, didn’t say hello. I am glad he wasn’t a fast runner.. or maybe I am not so glad.

Don’t thank me for sharing this one. I know you want to.

Just Say Gnome

Since when did these.. things… become the thing? Albeit they are a little cute, but, geeze, not THAT cute. My wife is going gnome crazy, an obsession of sorts, and I am threatening to put her on a gnome limit. As I speak into this blog, she is out with a friend, at the outlet mall, where she sent me the picture.

Just walk away slooooooowly was my response.

I just happened to be at Menards, a no no for me, as it’s one of our date night favorites. In an effort to show my appreciation of her gnomish predilection, I also responded with some teaser gnome pictures.

Heh heh heh. HEH HEH HEH. Tee hee. I feel very dastardly, although I might not feel so much dastardly when she gets home.

Heyyyyyy, where are you?

I feigned innocence. Home? All of those gnomes magically showed up at our house, then left.

That may have prompted her to make a visit to Hobby Lobby. I get lost when we go to Hobby Lobby, usually decide I need a potty break. It’s not my favorite place, second only to Target. Thankfully, she thinks Menards is cool.

I foresee some gnome torture about to happen in the not so distant future.